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by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gladstone the Dog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There is a puppy on John’s bed when he finally returns to Baker Street for good. It takes him a minute to realize it’s actually a puppy, because at first glance he mistakes it for a pile of wrinkled laundry. It’s only when he notices that the pile of laundry has little ears that he realizes.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Part of Story-a-Day May. Unbeta'd, just trying to write more!

There is a puppy on John’s bed when he finally returns to Baker Street for good. It takes him a minute to realize it’s actually a puppy, because at first glance he mistakes it for a pile of wrinkled laundry. It’s only when he notices that the pile of laundry has little ears that he realizes.

John takes a cautious step forward, and the puppy huffs out a breath, rolling onto it’s - ah, _his_ \- back and looking up at John with adoration in his dark brown eyes.

"Hello, who are you, then?" John murmurs, settling gently on the edge of the bed and holding a hand out for the dog to sniff. A wet nose nudges at his fingertips, and the puppy snuffles a moment, considering, before letting out a quick, happy-sounding "ruff!" of what John assumes is approval.

"Ah," comes a voice by the door, and John looks up to see Sherlock, wrapped in his blue dressing gown, hair disheveled and eyes tired. "You’ve met Gladstone."

"Gladstone?" John chuckles. "Like… like the former Prime Minister Gladstone?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Not named after him, of course, just a coincidence. Seemed like a fitting name." Sherlock crosses the room and sits next to John, pressed close, thigh warm even though the thickness of John’s jeans. Gladstone gives another happy little bark and flips unsteadily onto his feet, ambling over to Sherlock and flopping down on his lap.

"I didn’t know you liked dogs," John says, reaching over to scratch behind Gladstone’s ears. The puppy butts his head against John’s hand, pleased little huffing noises emanating from his snub nose.

Sherlock looks down, takes a deep breath. “I had,” he says, and stops. When he continues a moment later, his voice sounds wavery, unsteady. “When I was young. I had a dog. Redbeard. He was… he was my best friend, especially after Mycroft left for university and I was all alone. He slept at the foot of my bed, and I loved him.”

Sherlock pets Gladstone, absently, but doesn’t look up. “I loved him, and he died, and I couldn’t. It hurt too much, and I couldn’t handle it, and so I made a promise to myself that I would never let that happen again. I would never allow myself to love anyone or anything, because the pain of losing it… nothing could possibly be worth that.”

He looks up, finally, and John’s heart clenches tight, making his chest ache. “And then I met you. And you chipped away at that, even if you didn’t know it, even if _I_ didn’t know it, until every bit of that armor I had built around myself had fallen and I was utterly defenseless. Vulnerable. Everything I had swore to myself never again to be.”

"Sherlock," John breathes, but Sherlock holds up a trembling hand to silence him and John obeys. He wants, so badly, to lean over and kiss him, to comfort him. He waits.

"But once again, I underestimated you, just as I fear I will continue to do in the future. Because that vulnerability that you caused? It’s made me stronger. You, John Watson, have made me stronger by allowing me the privilege of loving you, and the security of your love in return, than I ever was on my own."

Sherlock smiles, just a curve at the corners of his mouth, and John is struck anew by just how beautiful this man is. “And so I thought - if I could survive and succeed in loving you, that perhaps - well, perhaps there might be room to love something else as well.” He lifts Gladstone up, pudgy puppy legs dangling in the air, and passes him over, settling him firmly in John’s lap. “Welcome home, John.”

Curving one hand around the puppy’s chubby belly, John cups the other around the back of Sherlock’s head, pulling him in for a kiss that starts sweet and grows deep and messy, forgetting anything else in the world but the feel of that perfect mouth on his, those glossy curls between his fingers -

until Gladstone lets out an indignant woof, clearly unhappy at being ignored.

John and Sherlock break apart, laughing, and John is overwhelmed with the knowledge that he’s finally, _finally_ exactly where he’s supposed to be.


End file.
